


Pulse

by itsluckyyou



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Self-Harm, enjoltaire - Freeform, exr but not necessarily romantic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 13:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7224886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsluckyyou/pseuds/itsluckyyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only thing he could feel was the steady pulse coming from whoever it was that was hugging him. It was quick and it was strong; the opposite of Grantaire’s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulse

**Author's Note:**

> In case you don’t read tags, this story has strong themes of self-harm. I tried to be as delicate as I could without losing the reality of the situation. There are also subtle mentions of alcoholism.

Enjolras calculated every move he made. He took in details, compiled them in his head and tried to sort through them so that he could make the best decision. It’s why he was so good at science. He could derive any equation under the sun and he could tell you exactly how a chemical reaction was likely to go just by looking at the equation. He was good at details, especially when there was an exact set of rules that put the world in order.

  
What he wasn’t good at were people. He spent his entire life trying to figure out why people do what they do and ultimately came up with nothing. All of the math in the world couldn’t calculate the decisions that people would make. That idea of unpredictability made him uneasy, which is why he ended up in a major that dealt largely with people. International Relations offered some sort of an insight into people, while also giving him the hope of changing the world. The idea that it also allowed him to dabble in several different career paths wasn’t unappealing. Still, he minored in chemistry as a way to keep up with current science and also stay somewhat sane in a world that appeared to follow Murphy’s Law to a tee.

  
He spent a lot of his university career trying to better the world with the tools that were provided to him through his classes. When he took a class called Intro to World Religions, he protested the unfair treatment of Muslims throughout the Western world. When he took Intro to International Politics, he rallied for peace talks between Palestine and Israel. He was more than happy to call his local representatives about things such as the tampon tax and equal contraceptive care acts after taking a woman’s studies class. Through all of these acts, he was able to make several friends who shared the same ideals as he did. He was making a difference, however small or however local, and he couldn’t be happier.

  
His hard work went a long way and now he was a graduate of about two hours. The long hours of studying and making sure his GPA remained above a 3.9 (the only reason he didn’t have a 4.0 is because one of his professor was a bigot who didn’t appreciate being called such in front of the class), all seemed worth it as the president of the University handed him a diploma. Two hours later and his mind showed little effort of forgetting the sound of his friends screaming in congratulations. They too, had all graduated earlier in the week, except for Jehan and Grantaire, both of which were planning on staying for another year. Jehan had taken internships that didn’t allow them to earn the credits they needed to graduate in time and Grantaire; well, Enjolras didn’t really know why Grantaire wasn’t graduating. He chalked it up to his constant partying but all of his other friends had expressed worry for the man that didn’t seem to match Enjolras’ theory.

  
“Come on, Apollo. Lighten up.” Someone mumbled from behind where Enjolras was standing. The latter was currently sipping a lite beer slowly, trying to remain sober enough so he could be a designated driver if needed. “Have a few! You just graduated!”  
Enjolras turned and came face to face with Grantaire, who was holding his usual glass of red wine, filled to the top and who was sporting a classic smile. “You ever hear of the uncertainty principle?”

  
“Mmm?” Grantaire uttered in response, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

  
“In chemistry,” Enjolras began as he watched Grantaire roll his eyes. “Actually it’s quantum mechanics, but basically it’s a theory that states the impossibility to determine the momentum and position of a particle at any given time. It’s used in chemistry to describe electrons.”

  
Grantaire’s eyes flickered dangerously and Enjolras could practically hear the neurons firing in the other man’s brain as he tried to formulate an argument. However, after a few seconds, Grantaire’s face softened and a grin seemed to escape. “And I’m sure you have a point?”

  
“You can’t predict what any one electron is doing at any given time. You can’t even come close. Scientists might look at one point in space where an electron was and still be an infinite amount of time late.” Enjolras concluded, shrugging his shoulders and taking another sip of his beer. He wasn’t a big fan of beer but it was the only thing in Eponine’s kitchen that wasn’t guaranteed to fuck him up. “It’s now my job to make sure that all of these people are safely in their home and not in an unpredictable-.”

  
“Wait,” Grantaire chuckled darkly and Enjolras fought a wince. “did you just find a way to make ‘designated driver’ even nerdier than it already is?”

  
Enjolras bit his tongue. “Designated drivers are not nerdy. They save probably an upwards of hundreds, if not thousands, of people each night.”

  
“I’m not denying that they save people.” The other man nodded his head and took a sip of the red drink in his hand. His smile had reached his eyes and Enjolras couldn’t help the anger that ran through his veins as he realized he was being mocked. How they had developed this sort of relationship was beyond Enjolras’ comprehension and it had happened so quickly that he couldn’t remember the first time they had argued. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you how to have a good time but if you want to drink, you can.”

  
“I am the d-.”

  
“Yeah I know; you’re the sober buddy. You took five minutes trying to tell me that.” Grantaire shot back, leaving a sour taste in Enjolras’ mouth. “I’m not drinking so that you and Ferre can let your freak flags fly. Lord knows you deserve it, Apollo.”

  
Enjolras narrowed his eyes and pointed to the glass in his friend’s hand. “You expect me to believe that you’re not drinking when you’re literally drinking in front of me? Are you that drunk already? That’s impressive even for you.”

  
There was a deafening moment of silence between the two as Grantaire’s smile fell from his face and Enjolras’ heart pounded so hard he could practically hear the blood rushing throughout his body. It’s not like Enjolras ever really meant to hurt Grantaire; this was just how they were. Grantaire called Enjolras a nerd; Enjolras called Grantaire an alcoholic. Grantaire criticized a policy change that Enjolras wanted to see enacted; Enjolras called Grantaire a lazy alcoholic. It was their routine, and oftentimes Grantaire initiated it and despite how terrible Enjolras felt after the fact, he couldn’t help but to argue back. It was toxic and it was addictive, a cycle that didn’t seem to have an ending. Still, seeing Grantaire anything other than happy left a pit in Enjolras’ stomach and knowing he was the one to cause the other man pain made him hate himself just a little bit.

  
“It’s black current juice,” Grantaire said after several moments of tormented silence. “But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  
“It’s not like you being a drunk is an infrequent occurrence.” He muttered before he could stop himself. That seemed to do it. Grantaire shook his head and walked away, leaving him standing alone, once again at the counter watching everyone else have a good time.

  
Enjolras breathed heavily, shutting his eyes fiercely and willing time to rewind so he could stop himself from ruining yet another conversation with Grantaire. To calm himself down, he drummed his fingers on the beer bottle in a steady pattern. After a few minutes and after realizing the drumming was doing nothing to calm his breathing, he walked over to the table where Courf was currently dancing on top of trying to get Ferre to join him, and grabbed one of the tiny cups that was currently holding some hard liquor. Enjolras didn’t know what and he didn’t really care. He put it to his mouth and threw it back, barely wincing. It was enough to calm him down and he flopped on the couch to sit next to Marius, who was constantly checking his phone. Enjolras remembered him mentioning that he was waiting for a call from Cosette, who was still at dinner with her dad. She was supposed to meet them here a little while later.

  
“Enjoying the party?” Marius asked, laughing as Courf started twerking, or rather started trying to twerk. Enjolras smiled and nodded, finally allowing himself to settle down and enjoy the time he had left with the friends he hoped would always keep in touch.  
It wasn’t until Cosette arrived, some four hours later, that the party really started and Enjolras really started on the job of designated sober friend. After taking a few more shots, he made the decision to stop drinking alcohol; although this decision could have had more to do with the fact that he had sang 3 songs on karaoke and challenged Courf to a Dance Dance Revolution tournament. He lost DDR pretty quickly, took another shot, and then began to sip water. It’d been an hour since his last shot and he was doing relatively well. The edges of his vision were still a little fuzzy and he kept tripping over things, but he was most certainly the least drunk one at the apartment, except for Cosette who had arrived sober. She was quickly catching up, though.

  
“I just want-.” Hiccup. “to know that we’re-.” Hiccup. “always going to be-.” Hiccup. Giggle. Hiccup. “friends. You know?”

  
“Ferre, we’re both moving to DC in a month.” Enjolras replied, shaking his head at his clearly inebriated friend. “We signed a lease two months ago. We’re not going to stop talking.”

  
“I know that.” Combeferre replied hastily, hiccupping a few more times before continuing. “But what about everyone else?”

  
“We’ll still talk to them, buddy.”

  
“But Courf-.” Hiccup. Combeferre’s face scrunched slightly as his eyes started to fill with tears. “He’s not coming with us.”

  
“No, he’s not.” Enjolras answered sadly, sighing as he watched his best friend start crying. He reached out and pulled him into a hug. “It’s not too late, you know.”

  
Ferre sniffled. “Not too late for what?”

  
“For you to make a move.” Enjolras noted, pulling away from his friend and wiping his tears away. “You’re in love with him. Go tell him that.”

  
“Like you told R?” The man sniffled and then giggled a little bit after taking in Enjolras’ face. Enjolras paled, an act that probably seemed like he did have feelings for R. He shook his head to convey his true feelings. “C’mon everyone knows.”

  
“That’s not true.”

  
“Everyone knows but-.” Hiccup. “you two.”

  
“You mean everyone somehow knows we’re in love with each other, except for us? Doesn’t that maybe mean that we aren’t?”

  
“Well, we all know that he’s in love with you, except for maybe you.” A series of hiccups followed. “But neither of you knows that you’re also in love with him.”

  
“I’m not in lo-.”

  
“Enjolrable,” Ferre paused for a second. “Your name is hard to say after 5 shots of vodka.”

  
“I’ll let my parents know.” Enjolras returned, smiling at his friend.

  
“E, you go out of your way to-.” Hiccup. “say things that you know he’ll react to.”

  
Enjolras paused, trying to formulate an argument, but his attempts were met with disappointment. Sure, he liked when Grantaire argued with him and yeah, maybe he smiled whenever the other man walked into the room, but in addition to all of the butterflies that the other man gave him, there was the simple fact that Enjolras couldn’t seem to stop hurting him. They’d never work.

  
“He does the same thing.” Ferre commented slowly.

  
Enjolras sighed. “I still think you should talk to Courf.”

  
Ferre nodded. “Maybe I-.” Hiccup. “will if you-.” Hiccup. Gag. Enjolras took a step back. “talk to R.” Combeferre gagged once more before a stream of vomit shot out of his mouth. Some got on Enjolras’ shoe, but other than that, it landed on the floor between the two. Eponine cursed and ran to what Enjolras assumed was a room where she kept cleaning supplies. The next person to react was Courfeyrac, who ran over and started rubbing his hands on Ferre’s back in a soothing fashion.

  
Enjolras walked away shortly after hearing Courf say, “Look, your vomit kind of looks like space.” He smiled and shook his head. He could just hear Eponine’s screams as she pushed Ferre and Courf out of the kitchen so she could clean. Cosette volunteered to help her out, leaving Marius alone on the couch once more. Maybe it was the discussion he just had or maybe it was the alcohol that was fighting to stay in his system, but he found himself wondering where Grantaire was. He hadn’t seen him since their last conversation.

  
“Do you know where R went?” He asked Jehan, who was dancing with some guy that Eponine had invited. Jehan shrugged but the man they were dancing with turned to give him an answer.

  
“He said something about going to think or something. Probably in his apartment.”

  
Enjolras thanked the mystery man and watched for a second to make sure that Jehan wasn’t in any sort of danger. He didn’t seem to be, so Enjolras pushed out of Eponine’s apartment and started the walk to Grantaire’s. It was only one floor up from hers, but the hallway was spinning a little bit making him believe that it may take him a little longer to find it. He would drink water at R’s and everything would be fine.

  
When he finally made it upstairs, only tripping once on the way up which he blamed on the unevenness of the floor rather than his inebriation, he knocked on the door. The hallways were painted white and the doors were a thick gray. He could only imagine how annoyed that must have made the artist. He couldn’t be sure how long he stood there for but it was long enough for him to become impatient. Anxiously, he began drumming his fingers against his thigh to calm himself down. Now was not the time to have his anxiety flare up. He knocked again. “Grantaire?”

  
No answer. He began knocking incessantly.

  
“Grantaire, it’s me! Enjolras! Look, I’m really sorry can you just-?” The door whined against his fist and opened a crack. Enjolras could see into Grantaire’s living room, where an open bottle of wine was lying on the counter, it’s contents spilling onto the floor. “So much for you being sober.” He muttered as he pushed the door farther, so he could step in.

  
“Grantaire, the door opened… I’m coming in, okay?” He called into the depths of the apartment, which wasn’t really that large. It had a living room and kitchen that together were about the same size as his bedroom. There were two doors connected to the living room, both of which were shut. Enjolras, despite never being inside this apartment before, knew they belonged to a bedroom and a bathroom. Light was shining underneath one of them. Grantaire.

  
“I’m sorry about what I said.” Enjolras called, walking over to the counter and picking up a roll of paper towels. He began cleaning up the magenta liquid on the table, his eyes catching another colored liquid before he could bend over to start cleaning the floor as well. Red.

  
Enjolras’ breath caught in his throat and he dropped the paper towels onto the floor. There was thick red liquid and glass everywhere. He had heard Bahorel and Jehan have hushed conversations about the dangers that followed Grantaire and alcohol but he had, for some reason, always pushed them aside as just Grantaire being Grantaire. “R?!”

  
Quickly, he turned back to the two doors and started walking towards the one of which he assumed Grantaire was behind. He tried to turn the handle but it was locked or stuck. He wasn’t sure. “Grantaire!? Grantaire! Open the door!”

  
Nothing.

  
“Grantaire!” Enjolras slammed against the door with all of his might, the hinges squeaking in protest but refusing to give in. He repeated the process. Then he repeated it again. And again. And again. His shoulder was throbbing but his fear was pushing him forwards. Again. Again. “Grantaire! Open the God damn-.”

  
The door’s handle broke against his weight and the door swung open. Bathroom. Not bedroom. Enjolras’ gaze landed on the pile of red liquid that was spread across the floor. Blood. Grantaire’s blood. It was a lot; too much. Enjolras wasn’t a doctor – that was always Combeferre’s thing. Combeferre. He reached into his pocket to pull out his phone until he heard a small sound coming from the shower. No. Combeferre wasn’t the right call to make. Police. He quickly dialed the number and then put the phone on speaker.

“Grantaire?”

  
No answer. Of course he wasn’t going to answer. Enjolras ripped the shower curtain back and gasped at what he saw. Grantaire was sitting down, his feet dangling over the side of the tub and his head sagging to the side. His hands were limp at his sides and covered in blood. Enjolras turned towards his phone; curious as to why they didn’t answer either.

  
No service.

  
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Enjolras grabbed his phone and hit redial before reaching into the tub and grabbing R’s head. He slapped it a few times until brown eyes were staring back at him, albeit faded brown eyes that couldn’t seem to focus on anything. “R, I need you to listen to me, can you do that?”

  
In addition to his wrists being torn raw, there seemed to be a sizable gash on the man’s temple. Enjolras gulped as he saw the dripping red paint his own skin as it leaked through his fingers. He decided to focus on brushing the man’s hair out of the gash instead. “You’re going to be okay.”

  
Grantaire’s eyes fluttered closed once more and Enjolras took the time to grab a few washcloths from the bathroom sink. He wrapped one around each wrist and tied them tight before slapping Grantaire’s face lightly again. His eyes fluttered open, much to Enjolras’ relief. “I’m going to lift you up now, okay?”

  
His phone vibrated just as he had wrapped his arms around Grantaire’s back. Cursing, he pulled back and took his phone out. He had a bar. He dialed the police again.

  
“Hello, what’s your emergency?” The operator asked into Enjolras’ ear. Grantaire’s head slumped again.

  
“Hi! Hi! I need an ambulance! My friend is bleeding really badly and I don’t know what to do. I need to-. I need to get Combeferre. Or Joly.”

  
“Sir? Sir, I need your address.”

  
Enjolras recited where he was and then reached down to try to wake Grantaire up again. It was unnerving how quiet the man was when he was awake. Enjolras shivered and thought about how much worse it would be if he didn’t wake up at all. Grantaire opened his eyes and moaned, seemingly annoyed for the constant disturbances.

  
“Grantaire, help is on the way, okay? You’re going to be okay.”

  
It didn’t occur to Enjolras until now that maybe that wasn’t what Grantaire wanted. Maybe he didn’t want to be okay. Maybe letting go was what he wanted. He reached forward once more, this time placing his fingers against Grantaire’s neck softly. There was a steady beating, but it was slow and it was soft. You had to really want to feel it to know it was there. Enjolras shivered once more but relaxed when he heard sirens. Hopefully they were his sirens.

  
“Please just stay awake, okay?” He was not above begging. “I know you don’t really like me but please do this for me. Stay awake.”  
An undeterminable amount of minutes later, the front door was being barged through again and Enjolras screamed to let them know of their location. A team of medics swarmed into the bathroom, pushing Enjolras out and back into the living room. He felt helpless. Pulling out his phone, he entered a Les Amis group chat they had created for rallies. It was Grantaire’s idea; an idea that Enjolras had never thanked him for.

 

 **Bahorel** : those sirens be a buzzzzz kill

  
**Eponine** : story of my liiiiife yo

  
**Jehan** : How often do sirens interrupt your life here?

  
**Enjolras** : It’s Grantaire. The sirens are for Grantaire. He’s hurt.

 

Maybe that was too blunt. He didn’t care. The music that was radiating through the floor stopped. He heard echoes in the hallway of his friends’ voices and then he saw Eponine and Joly enter the living room. He wasn’t sure how many followed them, if any at all. He didn’t look at them, though. His eyes were glued to the bathroom door, where he knew a life was trying to be saved. There was warmth beside him and the smell of cheap alcohol floated through his nostrils.

  
“What happened?” She asked and Enjolras’ face scrunched has he tried to stop the tears. He didn’t know what happened. There was a chance he would never know. He shook his head in lieu of an answer and somehow averted his gaze so that he was now looking at the mess on the kitchen table.

  
What had happened here? Were Enjolras’ words a few hours ago enough to send Grantaire into a self-destructive tirade? Did he come up here and just decide that if Enjolras had said he didn’t trust him not to drink, that it wasn’t even worth it to try? Did something else happen in between that sent Grantaire over the edge? Enjolras was hoping for the latter but knew regardless, he wasn’t absolved from blame. Not even slightly.

  
The medics wheeled him out, past the group of people that were standing in the apartment and down the elevator. Enjolras could hear them yelling at people to move. He hoped people listened but he didn’t have the energy to check.

  
“What happened?” Eponine repeated and Enjolras made an effort to look at her, but his eyes landed on her shoes instead. They were standing in some of the spilled wine. Enjolras could smell the alcohol on her breath and the copper-smell of the drying blood and he wrinkled his nose in response to the stimuli.

  
“I- I don’t – I just got here and -.” He stuttered, his mind not working as quickly as his mouth seemed to want to. He tried to focus on anything but the smell. There was so much to smell. “I tried to clean and – it was – he was -.”

  
Despite his failing attempts at communication, nobody seemed to have the decency to stop him. He looked up. They were all here now. Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Bahorel, Cosette and Marius. The guy who was dancing with Jehan was now hugging them as they cried. “I didn’t – I wasn’t here. I don’t know.”

  
He looked back towards the table and at the glass that was scattered all around the floor. How had he not noticed earlier? Why did he try to clean it up? Why was he such an ass?

  
“Enj,” someone mumbled as they placed a hand on his shoulder. Enjolras flinched. He was engulfed in a hug seconds later and the warmth had Enjolras in tears. His legs must have given out because the next thing he knew, he was on the floor and the sobs hadn’t subsided.

  
The only thing he could feel was the pulse coming from whoever it was that was hugging him. It was quick and it was strong; the opposite of Grantaire’s. Enjolras cried some more and then he stopped crying and felt a scary nothingness and then he fell asleep.

 

His world turned black, but his brain painted red. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Les Mis fanfiction and I'm so sorry for it. There will be a follow-up chapter to this story that will hopefully give you (me?) some closure. Maybe it won't. I haven't decided which way it's going to go yet. I'm going to try to have it up within a week, but we'll see how exams go. 
> 
> If I messed up Jehan's pronouns, let me know! If you think I should add another tag, please let me know. Please tell me what you think!


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